“Master, does this town have a jail?”

The barkeeper started, and blinked at his sudden guest with wide, owlish eyes.  A cloaked, nondescript figure hovered in the doorway, backlit by the late evening sun.

“It does…but whatever d’ye need the jail for?  Come to confess a crime?”

“No, sir.  I need lodging for the night.  I’d be grateful if there be an empty cell.”

“Laddie, there’s an inn right across the street—”

“No, sir,” declined the man politely.  “No, sir.  See…I’ve a bit of a problem, and it’s best to keep me under lock and key in the meanwhile.  And…well, sunset be nigh upon us, so…”

The bartender smiled brightly.  So brightly, the stranger in the doorway flinched and shied behind the door.

“Dear gracious Lord.  Are you cursed, boy?”

“I—!”

“Bahahaha!  Don’t worry none.  Just take yerself down t’ the lake out east of town.  The neighborhood noxie’ll have ye right as rain afore ye know it.”

The guest hesitated, and slowly peeked out from under his hood.

“Pardon me, but…what is a noxie?”

The barkeeper motioned him in. 

The stranger entered, and another fellow followed soon behind him.  He clapped the first man on the shoulder in a friendly sort of way and settled himself jauntily at the bar.  This second stranger threw back his hood, showing himself a rather comely fellow as he settled on the barstool with a bright, infectious smile.

“He said…to see a noxie,” muttered the first stranger, who shook his head when his companion offered a seat.

“What might a noxie be, then?” asked the second.

“Who, rather,” said the barkeep.  He set two mismatched wooden tankards on the counter, filled them with strangely clear water, and pushed them toward the two.  “We call ‘er the neighborhood noxie.  She’s a young lass what specializes in breaking curses.  If ye go t’ an apothecary t’ get rid o’ illness, ye go t’ a noxie t’ get rid o’ magic.”

“I’ve never heard of such a thing,” said the smiling stranger.

“First I’d heard of it, either.  Ours came into town one day, and said she’d heard a faerie complain that folks were being cruel t’ ‘em, y’see?  The townsfolk knew the fairies were causin’ all sorts o’ mischief, and we was about at our wits’ end, too.  Two days later, ’n it’d all been set.  We know how t’ treat our neighbors, and they know how t’ treat us.  One lad fussed a church grim a while back, and the lass took care o’ that, too.  She settled down at the old abbey o’er on the lake.”

“Mmm…” The two men went silent.  The cloaked one inspected the water and took a careful sip.  He muttered thoughtfully, “But being able to talk to fae folk doesn’t mean she can automatically break curses, does it?”

“If the noxie says she can do it, I’ll bet she can.  She talked the grim into leavin’ that boy alone, and then complained that ‘dog training’ was ‘outside ‘er purview.’”  The barkeep laughed heartily and pressed a package fragrant with dried meat toward them on the counter.  “Here, on the house.  Yer looking mighty under the weather, laddie.  I reckon yer both starved by the look on yer face.  Now like I said, y’ head out east o’ town t’ the lake and talk to the neighborhood noxie.”

“Would you kindly tell us her name?”

The barkeep’s smile faded, and his brows pinched.  “Come to think, I don’t know it either.  I think we all just call her Miss Noxie.”

“She’s a young lady, isn’t she?  And no one knows her name?”

The barkeeper scratched his cheek sheepishly.

“Well…she looks young, anyway.”